


A Glimpse of 221B in the Morning

by thebermuda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 04:53:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebermuda/pseuds/thebermuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wants to know why Sherlock washed the dishes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Glimpse of 221B in the Morning

Sherlock rose from his microscope in the kitchen in order to check the time. According to his phone, it was 9:59 A.M. John should be down in approximately one minute… 

And, yes. Here he was. Always a routine man. 

John murmured his daily “good morning” to Sherlock as Sherlock went back to his microscope. He had a towel around his neck and was in his bathrobe, just like always. He approached the sink, for his morning dish-washing ritual, while Sherlock suppressed a small smile. 

“Sherlock,” John started, turning his head, “has Mrs. Hudson been up here this morning?” 

“No,” said Sherlock. 

“I thought she might have been, because there aren’t any dishes in the sink,” John said. 

“Excellent observation, John. Faulty conclusion,” Sherlock said, not looking away from his slide. 

“Sherlock,” said John, “are you feeling quite well?” He approached his flatmate and pressed his palm against Sherlock’s forehead. Always the good doctor. 

Sherlock pushed his friend’s hand away. “I am.” 

“Because either we’ve got a particularly domestic ghoul haunting 221B, or you…washed the dishes.” John’s voice reached a peak of incredulity at the latter possibility, indicating that the former seemed much more likely. 

“Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true,” said Sherlock. 

“So you washed the dishes.” John gaped. 

“Very good, John. You’re catching up.” 

“I know for a fact that you have washed the dishes twice in your entire life, Sherlock. The first time when you were seven, which was when you decided you don’t like washing dishes. And the second – just this morning, apparently. Why?” 

Sherlock finally glanced up at his flatmate. For a while, no words were spoken. 

“It was for an experiment,” he finally said. 

“Oh.” This seemed to reassure John that his flatmate had not received some personality-altering injury to the skull. He smiled. “Well, excellent. Will this experiment include you doing any other domestic chores? Something involving the hoover, perhaps?” 

“The experiment is finished. I gathered enough results to back my hypothesis,” said Sherlock. 

“Well that’s too bad for me, I suppose.” A thought dawned on John. “Are the dishes still safe to eat from?” 

“Certainly.” 

“Right then. Off to the shower a bit early, I guess.” John made to leave the room, but hesitated in the kitchen doorway. “By the way, Sherlock… What were you trying to find out?” 

Sherlock switched off the light of his microscope. 

“I had a dream,” he said, his voice flat and unreadable, “that you died. In Afghanistan. That I moved in here alone and never met you. So when I woke up, I was curious to see what it would be like to live without you.” 

“So you washed the dishes.” John raised his eyebrows, but his lips quirked up in amusement. 

“Yes.” 

“And what was that like?” 

Sherlock closed his eyes, as if the memory were painful, and he took a moment to speak. When he did his voice was lowered to a melodramatic whisper. “It was _horrible,_ John.” He shivered. 

“Well then,” said John, “good thing I haven’t died.” 

“Quite.” 

John stepped out of the room, but this time it was Sherlock’s voice that made him pause. 

“And John?” 

“Yes?” 

“I think I can manage the hoover. Just this once.” 


End file.
